at first bite
lavender blossoms
perfume the air
on soft sugar hills
under lemon suns
always one step above
the crumbling earth

and after
such presence
as to inspire memories
of the just now
of the longing
reminiscent
before I should be

Human bodies are soft tissue
meant to be ravished
by love,
covered with soft kisses,
(or) not to be
disfigured
by hate
& jagged shrapnel.

Everyday they were there,
like clockwork
they were showered
with candy,
always smiling,
thumbs up America.
Then one day,
we heard the explosion.
It shook the ground in ripples.

Thank God
they detonated early,
before the patrol.

Shortly thereafter,
we left our enclosure
with our full loads.
What a nightmare,
****** carnage,
a horrible disaster.
All that was left,
from what we could tell,
were clumps of their bodies parts,
which included two sets of
bare children's feet.
It was more legitimate proof
of what we called
the radicalization
of the younger generation.

The ocean is a crumbled photocopy of a cloudless sky.

One day I was walking to the kitchen,
you know, to eat,
when I passed the mirror in the hallway.

I've walked by that mirror countless times,
you know, on my way to the kitchen,
but this time something really grabbed my attention.

I stopped and caught my glance in the looking glass,
you know, the one in the hallway,
and just could not look away for the life of me.

In fact I did the opposite and got closer and closer,
you know, to the mirror,
until at last my forehead was pressed up against it.

Then my reflection blinked and smiled at me,
you know, showing its teeth,
but it had giant dripping fangs and smouldering eyes.

I screamed as it reached through the glass and grabbed me,
you know, with it's talon claws,
and yanked me right through into the reflective prison.

I looked around and saw the interior of my home reversed,
you know, like in a mirror,
and the only light came from a strange and unfamiliar window.

I peeked tentatively into the glass of this odd window,
you know, only it wasn't a window,
and saw the horrible fanged thing smiling back at me again.

Then it reached up and eagerly waved hello,
you know, like waving goodbye,
and smashed the glass all to pieces.

As it shattered the light ran out of my new world,
you know, like purgatory,
so I sat down and thought: "Man I'm ******* hungry."

We lay motionless,
restless,
contemplating every single step,
entombed in our
forty-degree-below-zero cocoons,
praying for midnight to arrive.
Some call it the witching hour,
but not us,
my compadres,
we call it the ******* hour,
like why couldn't we all be home
in a big comfy bed
instead of lying on hard rock.
But I guess it's why we love hell,
the view at the top
is worth
every headache,
every nosebleed,
every bowl of victory chicken soup.

The crickets,
sing of nothing.
While,
the stars watch,
in equitable silence.
I,
think of screaming,
my rejection,
to the sparkling void.
Cigarette smoke,
pirouettes,
in the wind.
Grace.
It all means nothing.
Clouds consume,
the scenery.
Rain,
drowns the music.
So it goes.